


Quaestio Amoris (The Heart's Answer Remix)

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: First Time, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-01
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:52:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1548035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth asked the question, but Neal couldn't give her the answer she wanted. Later on that evening, he got a visit from Peter and discovered that Elizabeth was a persistent woman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quaestio Amoris (The Heart's Answer Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Theatregirl7299](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theatregirl7299/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Quaestio Amoris](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/47654) by theatregirl7299. 



> I had a lot of fun writing this remix. Thank you for letting me play with your story! Thanks also to my beta, elrhiarhodan.

Neal had been home from work for an hour, and the long summer day was just starting to dim toward dusk when Elizabeth called him from her cell phone, the sounds of the street clear through the cell connection. 

"Neal! Is there any chance I could get you to do me a favor? I have a client who's insanely particular, and I trust your palate more than I do my own. Are you in the mood for a wine tasting?"

Neal had been looking forward to a relaxing evening out on the terrace, but saying no to Elizabeth was something he preferred to avoid. "For you, always. Where do I need to go?"

"Well, are you at home?"

Neal paused to wonder if Peter had put her up to this for some reason, but he couldn't think of anything likely. Everything had been good between them, and Neal didn't think he'd done anything to make Peter particularly suspicious recently. "I am."

"Then you don't have to go anywhere! I can be there in about fifteen. Is that okay?"

"That sounds lovely. Thank you, Elizabeth."

"Oh no, thank _you_! Okay, see you soon."

Elizabeth hung up, and Neal went about gathering wine glasses and a corkscrew along with some crackers and cheese for snacks. He wiped off a table on the terrace and got the tray and glasses arranged just in time for the knock at his door.

"Hello!" Elizabeth walked inside, carrying a two-bottle neoprene wine tote along with her oversized purse. "Thank you again for having me over at such short notice."

"It's my pleasure." He reached out for the wine tote. "May I take those off your hands?"

"Please do!"

"I thought we could take advantage of the mild weather. Is the table outside okay with you?"

"Sounds wonderful."

Neal held the French doors open for her, then unzipped the tote and examined the bottles. "2005 Bodegas Roda Cirsion and 2007 Gaja Barbaresco? Elizabeth, really? These are at least $200 each."

She shrugged and sat down, crossing her legs. "My client has very deep pockets and very high standards. Invoicing him for a couple of bottles for testing purposes is nothing."

"I like the way you think." Neal opened the bottles, and he and Elizabeth chatted while they allowed the wines to breathe. The topics were all light: Neal catching her up on office gossip that Peter wouldn't think to pass along, the two of them talking about a current art exhibit that they'd both managed to see, Elizabeth describing a comedy of errors among the guests at an event she managed and explaining the food to be paired with the wine they were choosing. And yet Neal felt like there was a strange undercurrent to the visit, something in Elizabeth's eyes that hinted at an ulterior motive.

Whatever was going on, Neal thought his best choice was to go along with it and let it play out. If nothing else, he didn't want to miss out on trying the fine wines that were sitting on table. "Shall I pour?" he asked, and she nodded.

"Please do."

Neal poured half portions of each wine then sat and went about exploring the Roda Cirsion. The smell was heady, the color deep, and Neal closed his eyes as the taste expanded across his tongue. Neal tried the Barbaresco and was impressed by the complexity but he didn't have any qualms about making a recommendation. "I think you should go with the the Roda Cirsion. What do you think?"

"I think that I have my answer. I trust you, you know?"

She sounded like she was referring to more than Neal's palate, and he was unexpectedly touched. "That means a lot to me."

"Mmm. Now that the business is out of the way, what do you say about enjoying a little more of this wine before I have to make my way home for dinner?"

"You're not driving are you?"

"Oh no. I took the subway in, but I think I'll get a cab home."

"Then absolutely." Neal poured more of the Roda Cirsion for each of them, offered the cheese and crackers to Elizabeth, then sat back to breathe in the mild early evening air. They drank together in silence for a while, and Neal would have described that silence as perfectly comfortable if it weren't for the fine thread of tension he felt between them, a tension that increased every time Elizabeth looked at him like she had something she wanted to say. 

Finally, she sat her glass down and raised one eyebrow at Neal. "So, when are you going to tell Peter that you love him?"

Neal's thoughts stuttered, and it was only when he felt the stale-air sting in his lungs that he realized he had been holding his breath. He forced himself to exhale and inhale smoothly. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Elizabeth."

She waved one manicured hand back and forth dismissively. "You don't need to be like that, Neal. I know. It's okay."

Neal shook his head. "I care for Peter a great deal, but whatever you think you know—"

"I've seen the way you look at him," she said, her voice kind rather than accusing. "I've seen it, and I know how you're feeling because that's the way I look at him, too." She took a sip of her wine. "But you're supposed to be the con man. Go ahead and lie to me, convince me that I've misunderstood."

 _Go ahead,_ she said, and Neal knew that she meant. _Go ahead and lie to me, hurt me and hurt our friendship._ Neal opened his mouth to lie anyway, to weave a tapestry that would show her she was wrong, but he couldn't do it. "I can't believe this conversation. I—what—have you discussed this with Peter?"

"I'm having this discussion with _you._ Peter doesn't see it. All of those powers of observation he has when it comes to numbers and patterns and crimes mean nothing when it comes to feelings. You know this. You would have to make the first move."

"And you think that Peter's feeling for me—"

Elizabeth held up her hand. "He's never said a word to me, and I'm not going to speculate about my husband's feelings with anybody. But no matter what he feels he'll never say a word. He's—he's very good at getting in his own way."

"How can you be okay with this?"

"Because you're who you are, and he's who he is."

Neal stood and walked over to lean against the balustrade. He looked at the skyline, the tree tops, the cars and people moving in the distance, and he heard the scrape of Elizabeth pushing her chair back from the table then the soft thud of the French doors closing behind her. What she was offering him was something he wanted so much that he rarely allowed himself to even contemplate it. Just thinking about it made him ache inside with the desire to have Peter's arms around him, Peter's body covering him, filling him, Peter's face sleepy and vulnerable as they lay next to each other. No matter how much he craved those things, Neal had to remind himself that this was reality, not a fantasy.

Neal turned and went inside, expecting to find that Elizabeth had left, but she was only perusing the bookcases. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry I can't do what you want me to do."

She turned around, and she didn't look angry, just frustrated and a little bit sad. "Why not?" It was an honest question, and Neal sighed.

"You don't understand what the risks would be for me. If Peter took it the wrong way—or the right way maybe—I don't believe he'd try to send me back to prison, but he could make my life very difficult. Even if he wasn't trying to be vindictive, even if he was just trying to protect himself, I could end up working with a different team or sent to another city. I trust Peter and his team in a way I don't know that I could trust anybody else. This is my life. My safety."

Elizabeth looked horrified with her mouth parted and her forehead drawn up with a deep wrinkle between her brows. She blinked rapidly then closed her mouth and stepped closer to put her hand on Neal's arm. "I understand," she said quietly. "I'm sorry." She raised herself up to stand on her toes and pressed a light kiss on Neal's cheek. "Okay, well, I should get going."

"I'll pack up the wine for you."

"Oh no, you earned those bottles. Please keep them."

"I can do that." Neal hated to ask, but he needed to know. "You won't say anything to Peter about what I said?"

She gave him a small, sad smile. "You didn't even say anything, not really. But in any case, I won't. I promise."

"Thank you." 

Neal saw Elizabeth out, walking her down to the street and waiting until she was in a cab before going back upstairs. The thought of finishing off both bottles was tempting, but he knew he'd only end up feeling awful in the morning, and the wines were too high quality to serve as emotional anesthesia. Neal closed up the bottles and set them on his small counter then cleaned up the glassware and put away the remains of the crackers and cheese. He showered, trying to let the hot water wipe the evening from his mind, then pulled on sleep pants and a t-shirt and sat down to watch some TV until he was ready for bed.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he woke up but he sat still, barely breathing as he listened to hear what had woken him. There it was—a shuffling footstep outside of his door. Neal hurried over and pulled the door open to find Peter standing there in the dark stairwell wearing worn jeans and a short-sleeved henley that clung to the lines of his chest and arms.

"Peter?" Between the late hour, his just-awake state and the conversation with Elizabeth earlier, Neal couldn't think about much beyond how good Peter looked, how much he wanted to touch. "It's late. Are you okay?"

"Yeah…I…" Peter scratched at the back of his neck, pulling the hem of his shirt up away from his waistband, and Neal had to look away. "I just needed…"

Neal waited for Peter to finish his thought, but the silence stretched out until he thought something would snap, and Neal felt a sick tension in his stomach as he thought that Elizabeth must have been unable to keep the secret. She must have told Peter that Neal had inappropriate feelings for him, and now Peter trying to figure out how to handle it. "Needed what?" he asked, hoping he was wrong.

Peter didn't answer, but his face softened and his eyes filled with emotions. There was no anger, no disgust, nothing even close. Peter was looking at him with love and lust and need, and the tension in Neal's gut swelled and morphed into a whole new kind of tension.

"Nothing….nothing," Peter said in a breathy voice Neal had never heard from him before. "I’m sorry I woke you." Peter turned to go, and Neal knew that he couldn't let him go.

"Peter." He kept his voice soft, to avoid ruining the delicate moment, then reached out and took Peter's hand. As their fingers touched, Neal felt something slide into place. This was right; this was where they were supposed to be. Joy flowed from his chest out through his body, and he thought there was no way Peter didn't see it, didn't feel it radiating out to encompass him. Peter licked his lips, and Neal tugged him closer, pulled him across the threshold until they were standing close enough to feel each other's warmth.

Neal had been this close to Peter before, deep inside his space when fear or anger or relief had drawn them together, but never before had he reached up and touched Peter's cheek, felt the scratch of evening stubble on his palm. Peter tilted his chin into the touch, and Neal thought it might be the biggest mistake of his life but he leaned in for the kiss his whole body was craving. Peter opened his lips, and Neal slipped his tongue inside, tasting beer in Peter's mouth and feeling the vibration as Peter moaned. 

Elizabeth had done this, Neal realized. She had taken in what Neal said and gone to talk to the man who was working from a more secure position. Peter might have had more to lose, but he was far less likely to lose it. The whole concept of Peter's wife engineering this moment was so funny that Neal couldn't help it; a small laugh bubbled up while he was still kissing Peter. They broke apart just enough to catch their breath but they still leaned in toward each other, and Neal saw Peter open his mouth no doubt to start a discussion that could really wait for later.

Neal put his fingers on Peter's lips to stop his words then reached past him to push the door shut. He took Peter's hand again and walked backward, leading Peter to the bed.

"I don't—I don't know what to do," Peter said, the words like a confession.

"What do you want to do?"

"Touch you."

Neal nodded slowly as he crossed his arms and pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, and while the cotton was still covering his face he felt Peter's hands on his waist, thumbs rubbing semi-circles of warmth low on his belly. Neal tugged his shirt off the rest of the way and dropped it to the floor as he looked at the naked wonder on Peter's face. Peter tugged Neal closer, and as they kissed again Neal dropped back down to the bed, pulling Peter with him.

They made out like teenagers, and Neal tugged on the thin cotton of Peter's henley. He pulled the shirt up until it was bunched under Peter's arms, until Peter growled and pushed himself up long enough to yank the shirt over his head and toss it to the side. Chest to chest, skin to skin, Neal ran his hands over the broad curve of Peter's back as he arched his hips up against Peter's. He could feel Peter's cock through his jeans, just as hard as Neal's, and it was too late to get undressed, too late to do anything other than buck up against Peter as he tasted the sweat gathering on Peter's neck.

Neal came in his pants, and he would have felt humiliated, trembling through his orgasm, but Peter was gasping, puffs of breath against the side of Neal's face. Peter ground down on Neal's thigh and came with a grunt of release before he slumped down, exhausted. Neal closed his eyes and let himself drift; his chest pushed against Peter's weight with every breath, and that weight was more welcome even than he had imagined. Eventually, they would have to get up, clean up. If Peter didn't go home, Neal thought they might get naked eventually, sleep together under the covers they were currently rumpling. And they would have wine, finish off the bottle he had started with Elizabeth earlier.

Soon. Soon. For the moment, Neal had Peter's head resting in the crook of his shoulder, and he was right where he wanted to be.


End file.
